


Like father, like son

by Maroucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/pseuds/Maroucia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The young Florian Hardyng Stark, heir of Winterfell, is about to learn the truth about his parentage. SanSan. Not beta-ed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like father, like son

**Author's Note:**

> While I should’ve been studying or at least working on my other fic, I’ve been writing this instead. I really couldn’t resist when I saw the prompt on Sansa_Sandor. For A_random_loser
> 
> This has not been betaed so there are mistakes in there. Be warned. 
> 
> Hope you’ll enjoy though! :)

The great hall was buzzing with expectation. Wine, fruits and bread had been set on the long table for the oncoming guests and a few maids and squires were aligned against the wall, ready to serve.

 

“The Lord of Grey Castle, Sean Yoster has arrived, my lady,” Richard, the old master steward suddenly announced.

 

“Let him in,” Mother answered with a sweet smile while winking at Florian.

 

This was an important day for the young man; although Lord Yoster was officially stopping by Winterfell only as a halt in his journey to the Wall where he would visit a brother, Mother had confided to Florian that there was another hidden purpose for the sojourn. Effectively, a few moons ago when she had travelled south to the great market of White Harbour, she had encountered the old lord and the man had apparently been very much inclined in betrothing his youngest daughter to Florian. He himself had only seen the maiden in question once two years ago at a tourney near Moat Cailin but one could not so easily forget such a beauty. With her long light brown hair and her vivid green eyes, the girl had been a part of Florian’s most intimate dreams ever since the instant he had set eyes upon her. The idea of draping her frail shoulders with his cloak could not have been more appealing.

 

After endless greetings and the usual empty convention talks, the whole party of visitors finally installed themselves around the table and began eating the light meal that waited for them. The atmosphere was convivial and laughers were heard from everywhere around the great room but Florian himself was getting impatient. _Are they never going to mention Lady Elena and me?_ he endlessly kept wondering while glaring at his lady mother from afar. She had not so much as presented him properly to his possible future father-in-law and now he was forced to wait at the end of the table with the children as if he was no more than a boy. It was infuriating! He was six and ten after all; he should have been at the honour table instead. Just as he was about to reach a whole new height of impatience, Florian heard his mother call him at last.

 

“Florian, my son, come here,” she demanded.

 

The young man almost stumbled as he jumped from his chair. Quickly, he threw his head back in an attempt to rid his face of the tendril of dark hair that always fell over its left side. For once, the lock stayed in place and Florian smirked in contentment. He had to fight every instinct he had not to run to his mother like a little boy but he thankfully managed to walk as calmly as a prince, chin held high and proud. _I’m not a child anymore. No. I’m a man made, son of the late Harrold Hardyng, Lord of the_ _Eyrie_ _and Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell. My blood is as pure and noble as it gets. I should act as befall someone of my lineage._

“So there he is,” Lord Yoster exclaimed when Florian got near enough. The old man was sitting in front of Mother and had twisted in his chair to gaze at him. He was smiling warmly and Florian felt his heart flutter with excitement and apprehension both.

 

“Nice meeting you my lord,” he curtsied, bowing lowly.

 

“The pleasure is mine,” Lord Yoster answered kindly. With undeniable interest, the old man began studying him. “Your youngest son doesn’t look much like his sisters and brother,” the lord told Mother while keeping his eyes on Florian. “I was expecting a blond, blue eyes lad like your late husband used to be.” With a slight frown, he added addressing Florian, “You’re the black sheep of the family, it would seem.”

 

“He has inherited the Stark looks,” Mother hurryingly interposed with a fixed smile.

 

The rebel tendril chose that moment to fall back into its usual place over Florian left eye but the young man nevertheless kept grinning like a fool.

 

“He has indeed,” the old man said before turning in his chair to look at his host again.

 

Just then, the Hound cleared his throat or coughed, Florian couldn’t say; his mother’s sworn shield’s voice was naught but an unpleasant mix of rasps and other grating sounds to his ear anyway. Lord Yoster’s attention got caught by the sound and his stare instantly rose to the ragged man at arm. Standing behind Mother, Sandor Clegane’s dark shape loomed as it always did. The man’s expression was flat - bored even - but the burnt corner of his mouth was twitching, a sign that usually meant he was annoyed by something. _Not like if he wasn’t irritated most of the time anyhow._

Mother seemed to notice the attention the old lord was giving her sworn shield and for some reason, her face became taut and her smile stiffened. “My lord,” she began in a voice far less assured than usual, “tell me, how is that sweet daughter of yours doing?”

 

“My daughter?” Lord Yoster repeated, frowning even more deeply while obviously lost in his thoughts. Sweeping his gaze from the Hound to Florian, he added, face darkening, “She’s very well, I thank you, my lady.”

 

Florian was quickly losing his previous grin. _Why is he reacting so? What happened?_

 

After an awkward moment of silence between the three of them, Lord Yoster finally spoke. “I truly hope you’ll excuse me, Lady Stark, but I’d now like to retire in the chamber you lent me. I need rest before my early departure on the morrow.”

 

“Oh, I… I understand, my lord, but…” Mother trailed off, skin paling with every passing second.

 

“I thank you for your hospitality, my lady,” the old lord cut her dryly before leaving the hall.

 

“You’re very welcomed, my lord,” Mother whispered, biting her lip like aunt Arya did all the time.

 

With building incomprehension, Florian’s stare travelled from his lady mother to the closing door. _Why has Mother not insisted that Lord Yoster stay in the hall a bit longer? She had only just began questioning him about Lady Elena… does that mean he has reconsidered our betrothal?!_ _What could possibly have made him change his mind so abruptly?_ Florian wondered frantically. In desperate search for an answer, the young man’s gaze rove over the hall and felled over the Hound.

 

The rugged man’s eyes were narrowed in a glare as he looked at the door and his ugly face was twisted in a mean scowl but Florian could swear the old dog had an uneasy aura about him. That certainly wasn’t usual but Florian couldn’t have cared less for his mother’s sworn shield’s _feelings_ at that instant. _It’s him! It’s because of him if Lord Yoster has left!_ he raged to himself, a deep frown forming over his brow. _What did Mother’s dirty dog do again?!_ Sandor Clegane was the one to blame and it was obvious. After all, hadn’t Lord Yoster been gazing at him just before his mood soured? _Not everyone is as accustomed as I am to look at the gruesomeness of his scars but still the old lord’s reaction seems a little strong._ _The Hound has most definitely done something more to provoke him,_ Florian mused with anger as he glared at his mother’s dog. Sandor Clegane’s eyes met his and the man gave him a sorry look but that only enraged him even further. Florian glowered at him and then in a heartbeat, he was striding out of the hall and hurrying toward the God’s wood.

 

 _I hate him! I hate him! I HATE HIM!!! Why do we have to live with such a boor, such a coarse brute?! He’s the buggering dog of Saltpans, by the Seven bloody Hells! Why would Mother want him around?_ Florian kept repeating to himself in a mix of despair and fury as he ran through the corridor. Sadly enough, the young man knew the answer these questions very well. Ever since his father had died years ago, Mother had been very vulnerable and needed a protector. The Hound had been the perfect candidate; there weren’t any fiercer warriors in Westeros in those years.

 

The ex-Lannister dog had been enlisted in the forces of Florian’s father not long before he had left for war and Mother had immediately demanded that he become her personal guard. Father had accepted, convinced that his wife would benefit from such a feared sworn shield in his absence and he had indeed seen truth. Only two moons after his departure, words of the death of the Lord of the Eyrie had reached the Gates of the Moon. Sadly, Mother had realised she was with child at about the same time and she had therefore been so very grateful of her husband’s discernment at leaving the Hound by her side. She had so desperately needed the protection the man could provide her just then.

 

With time, she had gotten accustomed of having him in her shadow. It gave her strength, she liked to repeat and thus she never went anywhere without him. _But why didn’t Mother marry again?_ _Wouldn’t a husband be as good a protector?_ She was still young even now, with only four children – Florian being the youngest – and many knights and lords had often approached her, however she had always politely refused each of their proposals. Florian sighed at the thought. There was something very tasteless about having the Hound’s gloomy presence looming over every single gathering his family ever had and a husband would certainly have put a stop to that nonsense. _Always, Mother tells me she enjoys her independence and prefers staying widow, but still! Doesn’t she feel lonely sometimes_?

 

Florian had not always despised Sandor Clegane. When he was younger, he even used to like him a lot – the retainer often took him for rides over his shoulders and gave the boy candies and toys- but lately the young man couldn’t seem to abide him anymore. Sandor Clegane was far too much involved in the castle’s life, even to a point where it was getting improper. Worse, the man always seemed to be around Florian, ready to give him advices on whatever he was doing. If he was at sword practice, the old dog would inevitably appear in the yard and tell him how he should fight. If he was cleaning his armour, he would hear his hoarse voice from behind, giving him tips on how to keep it shinny. Whenever Florian was doing a mistake, the Hound was instantly behind him telling him how he should fix it… it was unbearable! Once, the Hound had even begun warning him about the dangers of whoring! The very memory gave Florian the urge to raise his tunic over his burning face and run to the bushes to hide in shame for the rest of his life. Who exactly did the old damnable retainer think he was? His _father_?! The man’s attitude irked him to tears but he couldn’t possibly complain to Mother. For some mysterious reason, she never seemed to mind any of her dirty mongrel’s paternalistic talks. Whenever Sandor Clegane acted as if he was the lord of the place, she only smiled blissfully and Florian couldn’t understand what could make her grin like a fool when she logically should’ve been shocked by the liberties he took.

 

****

 

Florian was sitting in the God’s wood, trying to calm himself down but it was useless. _Why did Lord Yoster reject the idea of having me as his son in law? Why?_ He truly couldn’t understand. He was the heir of Winterfell after all since Eddard, his older bother had inherited the Eyrie. Wasn’t Winterfell good enough for the old lord’s precious daughter? It wasn’t as if Florian was bad looking either. At only six and ten, he was almost as tall and brawny as the Hound, and that certainly meant for something as very few men could claim so much. Florian had towered over Eddard ever since he was two and ten although his brother was four years his senior, and his sisters who were both two years older than him – they were twins – had had to gaze up to address him ever since he was seven. Florian smirked at the thought; he was very proud to be the tallest of his clan. He had always stood out, that was undeniable. While his three siblings all had the same blond hair and blue eyes, Florian was born with a mane as black as crow wings and eyes as grey as steel. The very image of a Stark, Mother had always told him and the young man was extremely proud of these features he had inherited from one of the purest and oldest lines in Westeros.

 

Just as he was trying to figure out exactly what had transpired between Sandor Clegane and Lord Yoster, Florian heard voices approaching. He was in no mood to speak to _anyone_ and so he strode to the bushes and hid behind the thick leaves. After an instant, he saw his lady mother walking at the Hound’s arm.

 

“I’m so worried, Sandor,” she was saying with evident distress. “What if Florian never get to marry because of this?”

 

The Hound snorted. “Not everyone’s as perspicacious or proud as the old bastard. They’ll be other prospects for Florian. You’ll see, little bird.”

 

 _Little bird…_ When he was younger, Florian had never realised how improper it was for a simple retainer to call his lady mother as such. Why she would let such a man call her anything but _Lady Stark_ was above him.

 

“You really think so?” Mother whispered with some hope, while halting before the heart tree she had always favoured.

 

The old dog turned around to face his lady and raised both hands over her shoulders. The sight angered Florian to no end. _What is he doing?!_ he wondered, hands curling into tight fists.

 

“Aye, I truly think so. But just to make certain, I’ll keep my ugly face out of sight next time you’ll talk about betrothing the boy with someone else’s daughter.”

 

Mother gave her sworn shield a faint smile. “Perhaps you’re right. It might be for the best if you stayed hidden; he does look so much like you after all…”

 

Smirking, the Hound snorted again. “That he does,” he rasped while caressing Mother’s cheek with his knuckles. “Nevertheless, I think I might pay a little _courtesy visit_ to our bloody guest just to advise him he best keep his _suspicions_ to himself.”

 

“Are you certain it’s a good idea, Sandor? What if-”

 

“Shhh, little bird,” the Hound cut Florian’s mother. “Don’t you worry; I won’t hurt the old bugger. Only… convince him to stay silent,” Sandor Clegane murmured as softly as his raspy voice allowed before pressing his scarred lips over his lady’s mouth.

 

The view of his _so very_ virtuous Lady mother being languorously kissed by none other than her old and dirty dog made Florian’s head turn violently. He instinctively raised his palm over his chest and for an instant, he actually believed his heart would explode and leave him dead on the God’s wood floor.

 

After a long moment of confusion, comprehension abruptly hit him with the same delicacy one could expect from a hammer. _Wait… does that mean that…_ Random bits of the conversation he had just eavesdropped, of the afternoon and even of his whole life were rapidly replaying in his head and each of these cruel details was now taking a whole new horrific meaning.

 

 The young man’s eyes grew wide as diner plates.

 

_NOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!_

 


End file.
